Just a Cat
by Raggedy Doctor
Summary: I'm very sad right now so I wrote this. House unwillingly gains a cat. Not a cute little kitten, but a middle aged cat that's slightly chunky with a stub for a tail. Sad ending


Stout: My cat just died this morning so suddenly; she was only seven years old and was reasonably healthy. I wrote this story for her and I guess for me. This story is dedicated to her.

Disclaimer: Don't own House or Wilson or anyone or thing else

* * *

The sat in front of his front door staring at him. House scowled. The cat stayed where it was. 

It wasn't a particularly cute cat, not all big eyes and fluffiness. It was a tabby cat that was a bit overweight. Its tail was missing from some unknown accident of the past. In its place was a small stub.  
"Get your hand outs else where," He ordered. The cat didn't move from his porch.

"You just want to eat Steve Mcqueen," House accused, "What am I doing? You're a cat." House moved to give it a small knock with his cane but then stopped. He looked at the tail again. It was a bit loss for a cat. House growled at himself as he opened the door. The cat rushed in. It was all Wilson's fault.

* * *

They had been eating lunch at an open-air restaurant. The sky was cloudless and it was muggy. Sweat trickled down House's neck as he stabbed at his steak. The cat had run up to them and jumped on their table immediately going for House's steak. 

"AH! Get away you mangy cat!" House commanded trying to whack it away. Wilson chuckled.

"Aww, it likes you,"

"Yeah, I have that effect on animals and small children, get it away," Wilson continued to laugh as he picked up the cat. He petted it several times as it tried to squirm away. It dug its claws into Wilson's shoulder. The younger doctor immediately stopped his laughing.

"Doesn't like you," House said sticking his tongue out. The cat was after the steak again. House was about to whack it with his cane.

"Don't hit it! Give it a piece, maybe that'll tide it over!" Wilson suggested. House cut off a piece and threw it off. The cat was off chasing after the morsel.

"And don't come back!" House yelled. He was convinced that the cat came back to spite him.

It had followed him home and sat on the porch the entire night.

House tried ignoring it. The cat didn't leave. It seemed convinced that House was a good human that would give it food.

* * *

"You're so horrible wrong, I don't even know where to start, go to Cameron if you want a bleeding heart!" House growled to it as he put his key into the lock after a long day of work. The cat gave a loud meow.

"I know I wouldn't want to be cuddled to death either, but you're not staying here!" The cat didn't move. It had been a week. House was convinced that when he wasn't there, the cat would run off and get food and then come back to its vigil. Every day he spoke to it. Told it that it wasn't wanted and wasn't needed, that it would eat his rat, that he didn't like cats and that he wouldn't feed it. It always gave him a few meows back in this sarcastic tone as if it knew what he was talking about, as if it was saying 'you'll give in,' House was always one for a challenge, but he decided he should be the bigger man, especially considering his opponent was a cat. House followed the feline in and watched as it immediately made itself at home. Manipulative little… the cat reminded him of someone… oh yeah, himself. He scowled at that. That's all he needed, a feline clone. House came in fully and dropped his bag on the floor while slamming the door. He limped over and sat on the couch glancing over at the cat who was currently clawing at the cushion.

"You know there are rules right?"

There was this glint in the cat's eyes that was familiar…

…Feline clone…

"Steve, this is …" House looked over at the cat, "What's your name again? Ah, you never said, well, I'll just give you one, Stubbs it is," the cat gave him a nasty look… no, House decided, he was just going crazy. Cats don't give nasty looks.  
"Steve, this is Stubbs, Stubbs this is Steve Mcqueen, now I want you two to get along," He gave the cat a look, "Or else." Stubbs looked at the little rat for a second then turned around and jumped from the table going over to the couch to claw it some more.  
"Good then… hey! That's it, you're getting a scratching post!"

* * *

What Stubbs really got was a trip to the vet with House and Wilson. Wilson was there because House couldn't drive with the cat jumping all over him. House sat on one of the chairs with Wilson beside him. "You know I could be home with my wife," he grumbled. It was after work and it seems his friend had had a long day.

"That, I assume, is why you're eternally grateful that I asked you to do this instead?" Wilson snorted too tired to make a comeback. Stubbs in the meantime was trying to balance on House's shoulder, "Go to Wilson," House commanded. The cat jumped down on House's bad leg.

"GAHHHH SON OF A—"

"Mr. House?" the nurse… vet… receptionist asked.

"Doctor House," House muttered rubbing his leg. Wilson was there to help him stand and walk it off.

"You can go in now." House stood and awkwardly with the cat in one hand and his cane in the other. The Cat squirmed a bit.

"I'll wait here," Wilson muttered burying his face in a magazine.

"Oh sure, make the guy with the crippled leg carry the cat with the amputated tail to the vet." Wilson looked at him over the magazines,

"Yup." he agreed bluntly.

"No respect for cripples these days," House muttered to Stubbs. The cat gave a yowl of agreement… or anger at being held in one hand.

"Now… has … Stubbs had all her shots?" the Vet asked. Stubbs was on the table, her hair standing on end. "I have no idea, I just found it… her." House amended.

"And you named her Stubbs…" House glared at him, "What's wrong with Stubbs?" the Vet looked as if he was about to answer, but a glare from House shut him up.

"Anyway is she an indoor or outdoor cat?" House shrugged again, "She hasn't been around long enough for me to know… I'm thinking outdoor since I found her outside."

* * *

Wilson yawned looking up; they had been in there a long time. He hoped they didn't find anything wrong with the cat.  
"And do not even THINK of coming back here, you and your cat are… are!"

Wilson sighed heavily. House skipped out of the examination room… as much as someone in his position could skip. Stubbs followed behind.

"I don't plan to," House called back lightly. He whistled a happy tune.

"Well, let's go," House said. Wilson stared at him for a moment blinking stupidly, "What the Hell did you do this time?"

"I didn't do a thing," House protested innocently, "It was her fault," He said pointing to the cat that was rubbing up against his leg.

"Don't even try it," He glared at the cat. Stubbs gave an innocent meow. Wilson sighed and picked up the cat that instantly sank her claws into him. He winced, "Let's go…" House smiled, "Yes, let's," He looked down at Stubbs, "I don't like doctors that much either, Wilson's the exception to the rule, but only because he's so good at examinations." Wilson rolled his eyes.

* * *

Wilson had insisted of putting up posters.

"Look," He said, "Obviously the cat has an owner, it had tail surgery or something and it's pretty… fat."

"Stubbs is just chunky," House protested, "She's not that fat,"

"Be that as it may, she still might belong to someone who cares about her and…"

"Isn't a malicious cripple?"

"Yes…"

* * *

The whole week House felt himself becoming worried. What if someone did call? He was kind of getting attached to the little chunky cat. The cat seemed to have no interest in Steve… the cat probably never hunted a day in her life. She warmed his good leg at night, and House felt less strange talking with a cat than he did with a rat. Though he did need to get that cat a scratching post… and Wilson needed to buy some padding because Stubbs seemed to love sinking her claws in him while purring contently.

He would have never guessed what would have happened. Maybe it would have been better if the owners had come to claim her.

He had woken up and he hadn't felt the usual warmth of the fuzzball by his leg, which, in itself, wasn't too alarming. The cat sometimes wandered outside at this time in the morning (He had installed a cat door… or rather he got Wilson to install a cat door). House got up, popped his morning Vicodin and got ready for another exciting day of Cuddy Dodging. After breakfast he started to head outside to wait for Wilson when there was a knock at the door. He opened the door. Wilson stood there holding Stubbs.

At first, he thought she was just asleep.

He took the cat from Wilson; she was cold and stiff. She didn't move, or jump at being touched. She didn't dig her claws in or try to balance on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry House," Wilson said gently.

She wasn't even that old, the vet said about four to seven tops. That's middle age for a cat.

And even though she was just a cat, House felt a sudden sadness. He didn't cry when a patient died, he was frustrated because he couldn't figure out the puzzle, but a cat…  
He shed a tear for her, because he had told her things that he knew she would never give away, and she wouldn't betray him as long as he kept giving her food, and she had wormed her way into his heart. He held the cold, dead cat in his arms. He dropped his cane a while ago. It was eerie… no life. No trace of that personality that she had, that sarcasm in her that he saw in himself as well. It was no longer Stubbs, just a stuffed animal that never really was alive at all. That had been sitting on the porch, just as Stubbs always had, as if she were waiting for him to return home and let her in because Wilson made him give her some steak.

Wilson came up and moved to stroke the cat but stopped suddenly, whether it was the look on the older doctor's face or the lack of movement from the usually energetic cat, or just that eerie feeling House wasn't sure.  
He remembered hearing Wilson say that it might have been heartworms. It would explain the sudden death, the lack of warnings, the age and so on. He watched Wilson dig a little hole in the garden. His cane had magically appeared back in his hand and he held the dead cat in his other.

The death of a cat passes over you quickly. You feel horrible and devastated one moment, you calm down, you can think, and then in the next moment once again devastation sets over you. House didn't say anything as the last bit of dirt was placed over the grave.  
It would pass. He knew it would pass, this sadness, and no one but Wilson would ever know that he felt sadness for a cat's passing, and everyone would think he was the bitter old cripple, and that when he was verbally thrashing them today they would think he had run out of Vicoden and everything would be normal.

But he felt sadness.

"Bye Stubbs…" He muttered.

* * *

Stubbs is based on my cat Poppy who died this morning who was always there to warm my feet and ask for food and hang around with me when I was sick. The scene where Wilson brings the dead cat in is much like how my Dad brought Poppy in. She lost her tail in a car accident two years ago. She died suddenly, with no warning at the age of seven of unknown causes. 

Thank you for reading.


End file.
